


Shattered

by JadeSabre83



Series: Merry Chissmas Fest [4]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Ba'kif still got it, Blow Jobs, Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars), Chiss and human relationship, F/M, Fuck the sad away!, Merry Chissmas Bingo (Star Wars), Rough Sex, families are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeSabre83/pseuds/JadeSabre83
Summary: For Jazzy, in her experience of being called into someone’s office, a closed door was never a good sign.For Ba'kif, of all his tasks when it came to the human, comforting her had never been discussed.Neither expected things to end up the way they did.
Relationships: Ba'kif/Jazzlynn Vance (Human OC)
Series: Merry Chissmas Fest [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048555
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> More Ba'kif and Jazzy (Non-Empire of the Hand AU variety), related to [Other Side of the World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969725).
> 
> Prompts filled: Closed Door, Use of Entire Name

In Jazzy’s experience of being called into someone’s office (and there had been _many_ experiences in senior school), a closed door was never a good sign. She takes little comfort in the fact that this seems to translate over to the Chiss, especially as she shifts her gaze from Admiral Ar’alani to Supreme General Ba’kif and then finally to Commander Vanto.

“Have I done something wrong?” She asks in Basic (though she has a growing suspicion that both the general and the admiral understand more Basic than they like to let on), her brain quickly running through everything that’s happened lately and anything she could have possibly done to upset the (insanely high strung) Chiss Aristocra in the three months that she’s been on Naporar. 

“No, no.” Commander Vanto (“ _call me Eli”)_ shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing like that. Your request to contact your family has been approved. If that’s something you’d like to do now.” He offers her a soft smile while indicating the holoterminal on the desk.

Jazzy swallows. “N-now?” She was half-strung out on painkillers when she made that request. Over four months ago. Her eyes shift to Ba’kif, sitting silently at his desk, and then Ar’alani as she stands behind him, also in silence. 

Eli must catch the motion of her gaze because he’s giving her a slightly sympathetic look. “That was a part of the agreement.” He squeezes her hand, then joins the others behind the desk. “It should be close to dinner time back home.”

Not only were she and Eli both from Lysatra, they were both from the same _part_ of Lysatra. It made being so far away from home just a little easier, and that small reassuring hand-squeeze is doing wonders for her nerves right now. Still, her hand still shakes a little as she punches in the holocode for the Vance family estate, and she doesn’t dare breathe until the call connects and a little girl with red hair and a face full of freckles answers the call.

“Vance family resid—Auntie Jazzy!” The girl, no more than seven or eight, squeals in delight.

Jazzy makes a show of squinting in concentration at the screen before speaking. “Well hello there, Torrance.”

“How do ya know I ain’t Tanner?”

“‘Cause Tanner has more freckles.” Jazzy grins as Torrance giggles. “Is your momma around?”

“Yeah, hold on. MOMMA! AUNTIE JAZZY’S ON THE COMM!”

She has to bite back a snicker when she spots the two Chiss flinch slightly at both the pitch and volume of the little girl’s voice; Eli doesn’t even react, and she has to wonder how many Torrances are in his family.

Moments later, an adult version of Torrance appears. “Jazzy Mae, do you have any idea how long it’s been since you last commed us? Oooh, momma’s gonna whoop you real good next time you come home.”

“Bethany, I am almost thirty-five years old. Momma ain’t gonna whoop me. She’s gonna make me do the chorin’ for the entire time I’m there.”

“And _then_ she’s gonna whoop you.”

The two women burst into peals of laughter until they’re both bordering on tears.

“Why’re you at the homestead, anyway? Sounds like the whole lot of you is there, too.” And it does; Jazzy can hear a cacophony of activity in the background, and every now and then she spots another red or brown headed family member.

“Oh, we’re just gatherin’ for daddy’s birthday.” For a moment it looks as though her sister is frowning before the other woman catches herself and her face softens once more. “You should talk to momma.”

“Bethany, I don’t—”

“MOMMA! JAZZY MAE IS ON THE COMM!”

Jazzy gives her sister the look of death, to which her dear younger sister laughs and says, “Be nice,” before sliding off, giving Jazzy all of five seconds to fix her face before her mother appears.

“Hi momma. I know it’s been a while since I could last comm y’all—”

“Two years, four months, and six days, Jazzlynn Mae Vance. What do you have to say for yourself?” The Vance Matriarch is thousands of lightyears away, but Jazzy can feel every ounce of reproachful (loving) judgement seeping into her bones.

 _What do I have to say for myself?_ She spares the briefest of glances at her Chiss observers, her heart in her throat. Telling the truth, saying that she was held captive for nearly two years by an alien force called the Grysk while they forced her to aide in their tracking and kidnapping of young Chiss girls who navigate hyperspace using the Force is not only difficult, it’s impossible for an endless number of reasons. So now she has to do the impossible, and what is easily a Lysatran child’s worst nightmare; lie to her momma.

“I’m sorry, momma.” Jazzy pours a lifetime of guilt and humility into that apology. “Work just has us going deeper and deeper into the Unknowns, and it’s harder to get a reliable signal. I’m lucky to even be makin’ this call right now. Half the time we can’t even get a signal to file our reports.” 

Her mother offers the smallest of nods; apology accepted...mostly. “Is it still safe, wherever you’re at?”

“That’s part of why I’m callin, momma. It is safe, I promise. But we’ve also been offered a chance to go even further into the Unknowns. So it’s gonna be a lot longer in between my calls.” A _lot_ longer. It absolutely breaks her heart to have to lie to her mother like this, but it’s for the best.

“Well, just as long as you’re safe.” Her mother smiles, a genuine one, and not the fake one she sometimes forces when they’re talking about Jazzy’s line of work. “Now where’s that fiance of yours?”

It takes every ounce of willpower she has to not immediately break down at that question; she can feel her already broken heart shatter into a million pieces. Images of her fiance—driven mad by whatever the Grysk did to their victims and holding a blaster to the head of their lead communications scientist—flash before her eyes. “Oh, you know Kyrie.” Jazzy forces a laugh, surprised at how genuine it sounds. “She’s busy trying to rewire the ship’s communication system. Again.” She even manages to laugh before changing the subject. “What’s daddy up to?”

Her mother’s laugh falls short, a sad look pulling at her features. “Jazzy, your father’s gone.”

“But—” Jazzy shakes her head. “Bethany said—” She feels like she’s just been kicked in the stomach. “When?”

“A year ago, last month.” In that moment her mother seems to have aged almost a decade. “We all decided to get together for his birthday.”

“He’d like that.”

“He would.”

Silence settles over the two for a few heartbeats, then Jazzy sniffs, wiping at unshed tears with the back of her hand. “Well, I’m not sure how long this line will stay stable, and I don’t wanna make you burn your pies. I love you, momma.”

“I love you too, Jazzy Mae. You make sure you light a candle for your father.”

“I will.”

Jazzy’s hands are shaking too much, so Eli reaches over to end the call as she just sits there. Numb. There’s a vague awareness of a knock at the door, voices speaking in hushed Cheunh. She may be struggling with the Chiss language, but she knows enough to pick out “human” and “lessons” and when she finally blinks and glances up to Eli he fills in the rest for her.

“It’s time for your Cheunh lesson, but if you’d rather not go...”

“No.” She snaps out the answer so harshly and so quickly that Eli actually flinches a bit. “I can go to the damn lesson.” Gone is the soft, Lysatran drawl, her voice raw and hard. “I’m fine.”

She’s not.

~~~

Calls made to the MPs aren’t, and haven’t been, the concern of Ba’kif for quite some time. Unless those MPs are called to the residence of the (warmblood) human he is _technically_ in charge of after multiple complaints of screaming and loud noises. Of course his initial thought is that she’s been attacked, so when he arrives on scene he’s expecting a bloodbath...and not an apartment that looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane that goes by the name of Jazz’alyn’vanz. 

Tables and chairs have been knocked over, artwork ripped off the walls. Anything that can be broken has, and the tiny human stands in the middle of the destruction, fists clenched, face and eyes red from tears. Relief is the first emotion to wash over him; relief that she’s alive (and that he doesn’t have to explain the opposite to Ar’alani and Ivant) and that she’s not injured, as far as he can tell. Which brings about the second emotion...he’s damn impressed that such a small thing was able to wreak such havoc and come out unscathed. The last, and perhaps most complex, is heartache. It was incredibly difficult to watch her conversation earlier today. Not just because he couldn’t understand half of it (did _all_ humans sound like her and Ivant?) but because he could clearly see the pain in her eyes as she spoke to a family she will likely never see or even speak to again.

Of all his tasks when it came to the human—assigning her work related to tracking Grysk communications, aiding in her integration to Chiss society—comforting her had never been discussed. But throughout that call, and now, standing here in her apartment, he finds himself wanting to do that very thing.

The MPs are hesitant to leave as he dismisses them with a nod, which is understandable; there’s more than enough grounds to charge her with destruction of property and possibly even disturbing the peace. But they finally leave when he fixes them with the same look he once gave to cadets who found their way into his office, and when he shifts his gaze to Jazz’alyn’vanz he finds himself biting back a laugh; the _pikkiti_ warmblood (human) is glaring at him.

Cute.

She’s also yelling at him, nothing nice if the tone of her voice is any indication, and while he can’t parse out most of what she’s saying he has no issue with the last bit.

“Go to hell!”

“The Chiss do not believe in ‘Hell’.” His slightly-mangled Basic is well worth the look of utter shock on her face at the realization that, yes, he does understand more than he lets on. Now, having had his fair share of experience with feral things (Thrawn and Ar’alani being Exhibits A and B), he can safely predict that she’s going to do one of two things; run or fight. 

Zalyn’s glance doesn’t even flicker in the direction of the door before she’s making a mad dash towards it. _Oh, she’s good._ She’s fast, too, but he’s faster, one hand shooting out to wrap around her wrist and pull him in against her chest. And _that_ is when she decides to fight, becoming a wild thing in his arms, yelling and thrashing about. Hitting, kicking, and _screaming_. And he simply lets her do it. Lets her get it all out of her system until he can feel the fight leaving her body. He lowers them to the ground, shifting her to his lap as he leans against a wall and presses her face to his chest. He starts stroking her hair as she starts to cry, holding her tightly while her body shakes with every sob.

Later—minutes, hours, he can’t be certain—he thinks she may have fallen asleep until she shifts about in his lap, leaning back to lock her eyes onto his.

And then she’s kissing him.

Her lips are soft and warm against his, and she is so young (well, everyone to him is young) and soft and warm herself, and when she moves to straddle him he feels his cock stirring from the attention. The rational side of him knows that he should stop this; she is hurting and emotionally drained, and will most likely regret it in the morning.

But, again...she is young and soft and warm and curvy, and when she wraps her arms around his shoulders to deepen the kiss while grinding down slightly on his growing erection, all rational thought flees. He lets out a low growl in the back of his throat, and again when he hears her gasp, then surges forward to pin her to the ground.

“Do you want this?” Basic still feels foreign and clunky on his tongue, but if this is going to happen he has to be certain that she understands what he is asking.

“Yes,” comes the response without any hesitation, in Cheunh no less, and Ba’kif may just fall a little in love with her right then and there.

He wastes no time in divesting her of her clothing, choosing instead to focus his efforts on discovering the differences between Chiss and human bodies...of which, admittedly, there seem to be little. But he must be certain, for prosperity’s sake.

Her nipples turn to swift peaks at the mere swipe of his hands, and she whimpers and arches her back when he lowers his mouth to one, then the next, and cries out when he pinches them. This, of course, calls for further investigation, but next time as there’s more to discover (and the fact that he’s already thinking about a _next time_ speaks volumes of his as until now hidden feelings for this woman). The hairs on her arms, which are shorter and much lighter than the hair on her head, stand at attention when he runs his hand down her sternum, and she laughs and tries to squirm away when his hand grazes her side. Her face becomes more serious the lower his hands get, and when they trail along the curve of her hips he watches as her breathing increases and her body temperature shoots up several degrees.

Legs that have seemingly spread out of instinct get spread all the way, opening her up to him. There’s dark, slightly coarse hair covering her cunt, and when he spreads her folds he can see how wet she is already. He slides a finger into her, teasingly, grinning at her breathy gasp, then slides that finger up to what he hopes is analogous to the same bundle of nerve endings on Chiss women. If her moan is any indication, he’s correct in his assumption.

His cock twitches in his pants; pants that are rapidly becoming too tight, and though he’s growing desperate to fuck her, first he wants to see her come undone. 

One hand moves to pin her hands above her head, feeling a heady sense of victory at seeing the slight widening of her eyes and hearing the intake of air, as the other slides back down between her legs. He teases that tiny nub, unable to hold back a low, almost predatory chuckle as she starts to whimper and squirm, and the noise she makes when he slides two fingers inside of her is indescribable.

He vows right then and there to do whatever it takes to elicit that noise as often as possible.

The thrusting of his fingers is slow at first, but when she manages to force out a “ _please”_ in Cheunh he takes pity on the poor thing, increasing the speed while making sure to angle his thumb in just the right way to hit her special nub (he’ll have to ask her the human word for it later) with each thrust.

It doesn’t take long before he feels her inner walls clenching down on his fingers and he gets his wish. Jazz’alyn’vanz coming is a thing of beauty. Head thrown back, body arched, mouth open as she gasps and cries out. When she comes down she’s shaking, and he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before a less than gentle kiss to her lips.

“Bed,” he says as he pulls back and pulls her up, hoping that such a simple word will be understood. Her responding nod is a relief on multiple fronts, but mostly because as much as he’d love to just fuck her here and now, he know his knees (and back, and hell, every other part of his body) would not forgive him in the morning. 

She leads him to her bedroom which, thankfully, seems to have escaped the path of destruction. Once inside, the reality of the situation seems to have fully sunk in, for both of them, but before it can cross the line of discomfort she’s reaching for his belt.

“I want to see you.” Her Cheunh really is awful, but she’s trying. He has to help her with the fasteners and sealing strips of his uniform, kicking off his boots before she pulls down his pants and underwear, and for the first time in years (decades) _he’s_ starting to feel nervous. Is he up to human standards? Is he up to _her_ standards? Does his cock seem far too different than human cocks?

But any nerves or doubt vanish the second she drops to her knees and his cock is enveloped in her soft, warm mouth. 

He lets her set the pace, careful not to thrust his hips or grab her hair, but when she takes as much as she can, then again, and then a _third_ time, he lets out a low warning growl before fisting his hands in her hair. She doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it only seems to encourage her to try to take even more of his cock down her throat. This he allows, but only once more, then he withdraws, trying not to laugh at the look of disappointment on her face.

“It’s okay, little one.”

“I know what that means, and I am not that short!” she huffs out, in Basic, expecting _him_ not to understand.

“Yes, you are,” he replies back in kind, allowing himself to laugh this time as he tosses her onto the bed.

She squeaks as she tries to right herself, but he’s quick to get her into the position he wants; hips up, shoulders and face pressed down into the bed. He runs a hand along her cunt, sliding in two fingers to make sure she’s still ready for him; she is. Lining up his cock at her entrance, he plunges into her in one swift, steady thrust.

And then he’s lost in her tight, wet, heat.

Sounds of pleasure fill the room and his head; flesh against flesh, moans, whimpers, pleas. This is no gentle lovemaking; he knew from the moment she first kissed him that what she needed was a good, hard, fucking and he is more than happy to provide that for her. Whether it ends here, or goes beyond this can be dealt with later.

Because right now? Right now he wants to make her make _that noise_ again. So he slides all the way out, then slides just the tip of his cock back in, adjusts the angle of his hips, and slams back up. It works, so he repeats it, again and again and again until her legs are shaking and he has to wrap an arm under her hips to help keep her upright. One more thrust like that, and he can feel her coming, her cunt clenching down around his cock as her body trembles and she cries out so loudly it’s almost a scream. That alone nearly does him in, and a few more hard, quick thrusts and he’s meeting his own climax with a low growl.

He lowers her gently to the bed before sliding out, and excuses himself to the refresher to clean up. A few moments later he returns, wet washcloth in hand for her, and then his heart nearly breaks in two when he sees that she’s got the blankets wrapped around her as she’s curled up in on herself.

_Beint._

“Will you stay?” Her voice wavers, making her already broken Cheunh even worse, but he’s able to catch the meaning.

“Yes.” _Yes, you silly little human._

Ba’kif holds out his arms to her when he lays down, relieved that she seems to only hesitate for the briefest of moments before she rolls over, pressing her face to his chest and tucking her head under his chin.

She’s asleep within minutes, and before he joins her he makes another vow; that Jazz’alyn’vanz is now his, and he will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Pikkiti_ : smallest possible size (H/T to cathouse_mary for this one!)  
>  _beint_ : Dammit


End file.
